My men were by this time more than half mad. It needed not the death of their comrade to excite them to frantic action. The sight of the captive ladies; the disappointment caused by our being unable to rescue them—after supposing ourselves sure of it—and perhaps, as much as anything else, the trick that had been played upon them—rendered one and all thirsty for vengeance.
I need not say that I shared this thirst—so much that I no longer cared for consequences, and had lost even the perception of danger.
I stood upon the projecting doorstep; not looking after the body which had gone below, but across the chasm, in hopes of getting sight of a brigand. Any one now: since I knew there was not much chance of again seeing their chief.
I heeded not the stray shots that came hurtling around my head; and, in all likelihood, one would have consigned me to a fate, similar to what had befallen my comrade, had I been left to a much longer indulgence in my reckless mood.
But I was not. A strong arm seizing me from behind—it was that of my sergeant—drew me back within the cabin; whose thick wooden walls were proof against the bullets of either carbine, or escopeta.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Guided by a Renegade.
For some seconds there was silence in our midst. It was the silence of men who have nothing to say to one another.